


Sam's not a Sasquatch

by Links6



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Fever Dreams, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Sam Winchester, Measles, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam gets deaged, Sick Sam Winchester, Tiny sam, because why not, but he's still a smartass, but it was zombies all along, fluffy fest, giving Dean PTSD flashbacks, that's an understatement, they thought they were hunting poltergeists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Links6/pseuds/Links6
Summary: Try hunting Zombies when you're 3-feet tall? Not fun. Good thing Dean's there to help! ... physically de-aged!Sam and later some sick!hurt!Sammy too. As a bonus: some awesome!bigbrother!Dean coming your way! Updated!
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes. This is purely non-profit fan-fiction work created to pay homage to an awesome series.
> 
> AN1: Alright then, we've got a physically de-aged!Sam coming up… maybe some sick!Sam and hurt!Sam too… I haven't really written anything Sam-related… so I'm going to make this a Sam-liciousfanfic to make up for it ;)
> 
> AN2: I haven't actually been in the mood for writing the past few months… but this bunny just slapped me from nowhere and wouldn't leave me alone. Good thing too, I was getting worried my Writer's Block was permanent! LOL
> 
> AN3: This fic is more about the issues of trying to continue hunting and trying to adjust than anything else. A shameless excuse for big brother!Dean and later some protective!Dean too, just for good measure! Enjoy!
> 
> Takes place after 2x04 "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things"

"Dean?"

The older Winchester brother frowned deeply in his sleep. Not because of the fact that his little dream –a Miami fling with Lana Lang- was disrupted… but because his little brother's voice sounded a little too 'little'. Dean's one eye snapped open, trying –for the most part- to stay in dreamland for as long as humanly possible but also not trying to neglect Sam.

But, it's impossible to do both.

Especially when Sam's three foot tall, holding up his boxers with both hands since the article was about seven sizes too big for him.

And that's something Dean doesn't witness often anymore, at least not for the past two decades...

Sam's _always_ taller. He's been taller since he turned thirteen. TEEN-hood. And Dean was eighteen at that point, on the verge of graduating. And that just sucked. He was picking Sam up from Junior school and _he_ was in Highschool. And they were BOTH the same damned height.

At first it was OK. They could swap clothes, trade shirts and stuff. Sam even took a liking to Dean's sports jacket and practically wore it every day. And then it got to be a pain in the ass. Sam kept growing and out growing his clothes and Dean was stunted, left to incarcerate Sam's lanky left-overs since he hadn't grown a single inch in over a year.

But now?

"What the hell happened?" Sam asks in his now-squeaky voice, more to himself than Dean. His owlish eyes shining and cheeks pink. It almost looked like he was about to cry.

At this point Dean's sure he's dreaming, since Sam's trying to locate his cell on top of the drawers in the corner, but he's not tall enough to actually _see_ the top. He ends up blindly patting the top of the cabinet to try and feel where it is. "Where's my phone?" he snaps, now taking to bouncing up and down to get a look of the top of his bed.

Dean's eyes follow him as he jumps. Up down. Up down. Up down, up down. Up down. Weird.

Sam swings around, a comical frown on his face. "Will you help me?" he demands with a pout punctuating his sentence.

"Heheh… uh… how?" Dean mutters, sitting up with a half-smile on his face.

"I don't know… call Ellen… call Bobby…." Sam says, looking almost as if he's about to throw a tantrum.

"Alright, alright….. chill," Dean says, instantly remembering that he always used to say that whenever Sam got this way as a kid. Deja picks up his cell and dials Bobby. Who dials Ellen. Who dials Jo. Who calls Sam.

"Yes, I'm fine and I'm frickin' three-feet tall!" Sam says with a huff, "Bobby says it'll last until the next full moon since the spell was cast with Wolfsbane… no, it's not good… the last full moon was three days ago… … yeah…"

Dean grabs his phone, snaps open his cell and takes a picture of Sam's pouting face. He saves the picture , keeping in mind how very useful this blackmail will be. A twenty-three year old pouting? Priceless.

Sam shoots him a glare and takes in a deep breath, "Yeah… Dean's _loving_ this… hahaha… yeah, for once he is taller!" –which earns Sam a pillow to the head.

Dean shuffles off his head and stalks to the kitchen. He grabs a beer from the fridge and pops the top. He doesn't bother grabbing one for Sam too, oh no, the kid's underage now.

"Right…. Thanks…. We will…. No, I won't send you a picture," Sam says with a warning tone and hangs up.

"Just did…." Dean grins, snapping his phone shut and jumping back on his bed.

Sam rubs his head with a groan. He ruffles his hair agitatedly and rests his head on his arms. When Sam doesn't move, Dean's big-brother instinct kick in and he moves over to Sam's bed. "Hey…. You okay, dude?" Dean asks, resting his hand on Sam's back. The kid's shaking.

"I-I'm fine." Sam says, suddenly hiccupping.

"Have I ever told you you're such a girl?" Dean says, rubbing Sam's back in small circles. He pats his brother's back a few times when the younger Winchester sniffles. He can't remember the last time he's done this.

Sam wipes his nose on the material in front of him, startling when the material moves and he realises it was the sleeve of Dean's long-sleeved shirt.

Dean doesn't fuss though, he just smiles and ruffles the rest of his sleeve over Sam's face before walking off. That's how men dry tears, right?

The older Winchester paused for a moment, cocking his head over his shoulder, "Just because you're short doesn't mean we stop hunting, bro… tomorrow we go hunt us some zombies!"

"It's just a poltergeist…"

"Bite me. Zombies sounded cooler…."


	2. Tazers and Princesses

That morning Dean decides it time for him to go a-shopping. He manages to convince Sam not to go along with a "Can't have you walking around naked…. Well… I could, but then you'll get all the attention," he also throws in the fact that having Sam walk around in clothes that are about ten sizes too big is embarrassing to Dean. And, _that_ made it Dean's responsibility to go and buy Sam some new –albeit temporary- clothes.

Somehow, it kinda got Sam excited too. New clothes for the first time in like three years. It's like the first Christmas when you stop believing in Santa. No more toys, just clothes. Only, now, it's not a downer.

Well… it wasn't until Dean got back with a bag full of second-hand store kiddy-specials that Sam's excitement seemed to spiral downwards. Knock-off Batman, Spiderman and Handy Manny t-shirts. And worse, matching sneakers and elastic band- jeans…

Dean drops the bags of clothes on Sam's bed and heads over to the small coffee table with the diner take-out. Good thing too, Sam wasn't sure how much more he can listen to "I can't wait to try that diner again… they're cheeseburger… delicious" and then, Dean would go on to compare their awesomeness to…. Well… almost everything. For instance, Jennifer Love-Hewitt in Ghost Whisperer .

"Ugh…. What _is_ this?" Sam mutters and holds up a pair of electric green sneakers. "Velcro straps … are you serious?"

Dean grins and opens the bag with the Styrofoam containers of take-out he got from the diner. "Sorry… I thought you might have trouble with laces with your itty bitty hands," he quips, wriggling his fingers in the air momentarily for effect.

"You couldn't pick anything less … stupid?"

"Why didn't you go along then, Samantha?"

Sam quirks an eyebrow and stares down to his feet. He's got his old Stanford T-shirt on and… that's it. The thing's hanging down to about an inch from the floor and what's worse, Sam's not budging. The way he figures, he'll just have to make due with super-baggy clothes… considering the alternative, that idea wasn't half bad.

"What's the matter, don't like Batman anymore?" Dean says, walking over and grabbing the sneakers from Sam's hands. He ripped the tags off the sneakers he bought with one elegant move. He then, proceeded to throw them –not so elegantly- one at a time at Sam: the one hitting Sam in the stomach, the other grazing the top of his head.

"You're crazy!" Sam yelled, grabbing one of the sneakers, flinging it back at Dean. Unfortunately, not being 6-feet tall anymore has its disadvantages. One of them being, he's not as strong as he was. The projectile sneaker landed softly next to Dean's foot.

"Stop complaining, bitch!" Dean says, kicks the shoe to the side and laughs heartedly.

It takes a while for Sam to oblige and finally rummage through the clothes and arrange them accordingly. He figured, if he was going to be stuck in a short-bus body for the next four weeks, he might as well do it properly. He manages to wrangle one of John's old army duffels from the trunk of the Impala and squeezes all his 'old six-four tall body' clothes into it. He drags the duffel back to the trunk and buries it right at the back of the trunk. Twenty-five days is a long time for a Hunter.

He decides to pack out all his equipment, weapons and gear, throwing out the ones he won't be able to handle easily. It's the first time he realized that Dean was actually serious when he argued once that he had "a height disadvantage" when they were sparring together, a year before Stanford. Before Jess. Before Dad... He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts and brought them back to the present. And at present, it was seriously a disadvantage not being able to handle a Desert Eagle easily. And that just blows.

.

.

"This is ridiculous! I can't even hold my own gun!" Sam whines for the sixth time tonight. And they're not even out of the motel yet. The Taurus 92 he's currently holding is the size of his head and he has to hold it in both hands. "There's no way I can shoot this, Dean!"

"Maybe we should get you a Noisy Cricket like in Men in Black," Dean quips, snapping the magazine back into his COLT 1911 A1 with ease. "Hmm?"

Sam narrows his eyes and shakes his head. " _Very funny."_

"I can get you a tazer?" Dean says, reaching into his bag, shuffling around for a bit before emerging with the aforementioned tazer, "Here you go, princess."

Sam eyes the tazer before huffing and flipping the safety on his gun. He practically pouts as he checks the rest of his gear. He hates the fact that his new jeans only come with elastic, his t-shirts all have logos and weird photos on them and his shoes are all Technicolor rejects –all Dean's pick by the way.

"…Jerk…" he mutters dejectedly.

.

.

It's an hour later, when Dean's digging the grave and Sam's holding the miniature scale-shovel, that it's not funny anymore. Sam's been leaning on his for the past ten minutes and Dean finding it harder to keep the sunny disposition going. Since being warped back to Kindergarten, Sam's stamina and strength has literally minimized –along with the rest of him.

"You still alive, Sammy-boy?" Dean yells, flinging a shovel of dirt over his shoulder without looking.

Sam startles awake when the muddy-mess hits the side of his leg, "What? Yeah…"

Dean stops shovelling and turns around. He gives Sam a once-over and frowns, "Go lie down," he says and turns back, resuming shovelling as if he hadn't stopped.

Sam yawns widely, but quickly forces a cough to cover the sound, "No, I'm okay… " he yawns again and shakes his head to get himself to wake up.

"Seriously, you're-" Dean starts up with a yawn but ends up growling instead, "DAMNIT! You're making me tired! Go lie down!"

The younger Winchester mumbles under his breath, something he hadn't done since twelve, as he shuffles back to the Impala. He clambers into the Impala and slams the door shut, earning a warning glare from his older brother. It doesn't take too long though, Sam's head's drooping and he nods off against the headrest a few minutes later. His head lolls against the headboard and he ends up snoring with his mouth open. Not exactly picturesque, but nonetheless adorable.

.


End file.
